


pinned down by wreckage

by Anonymous



Series: bad things happen bingo [4]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anxiety, Bruises, Car Accidents, Flashbacks, M/M, Mild Blood, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, References to Canon, Serious Injuries, post john watkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22877518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: jt and malcolm are on the way to a crime scene when someone crashes into themwritten for bad things happen bingo square G1 - pinned down by wreckage
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Malcolm Bright/JT Tarmel
Series: bad things happen bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633324
Comments: 22
Kudos: 88
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

The best part about riding in the car with JT was that, as long as Malcolm actively avoided profiling him or asking him personal questions, JT didn’t mind it when Malcolm rambled about anything any everything. His logorrhea wasn’t getting any better around JT, but it had, at least, changed form. Rather than being nervous about JT accepting him, he was nervous about his foolish crush. He hadn’t managed to admit it to JT in the last few weeks. In further fact, he’d honestly been avoiding JT a little bit. He made sure he and JT were never alone together - which wasn’t hard. JT seemed unwilling to be alone with him, either. It stung, but it just showed Malcolm that it was probably better if he buried his feelings and smothered them until they died off. They would eventually. They always did.

“So, then Crawford just… stops looking for them. Assumes they’re dead. Doesn’t really even look for their bodies. Which, I guess with his history with them it made sense, but still. It had to have thrown up a few flags. I think that’s why Crawford retired so early. I saw what they’d done to the other guy, though, and it was absolutely brutal.” 

“That’s whack,” JT muttered, not appearing to pay much attention. That rarely bothered Malcolm, but for some reason, it stung extra hard when it was JT who didn’t listen to him. He knew it shouldn’t, knew it didn’t really matter or make a difference, but he was finding it hard to avoid shutting down all together. JT glanced over at him. “How could he not even look for them? Wasn’t he the director of the whole FBI?”

Malcolm smiled, bright and delighted. “Yes! Exactly! Honestly, I’m pretty sure they survived and they’re off terrorizing some other country and the news hasn’t made it to a national level yet. It’s just a matter of time. I mean -”

Later, when he thought about it, he would say that it was the sound that came first, but if he was honest, he’d have to admit he really didn’t know. It all happened at once. There was a trail of blaring horn blasts - unusual, for this section of the city - and then there was pain and squealing tires and breaks, shouting. Sirens. 

“Shit.” 

Malcolm blinked his eyes open slowly. Everything felt as if it had been picked up and moved three inches to the left. And it also hurt. A lot. 

“Bright.” JT was talking to him, but he couldn’t really - see him. “Malcolm, look at me. Can you do that?” Malcolm blinked again and tried to focus his eyes. It was all a blur of shapes and colors. He tried to focus on what he was pretty sure was JT. “There you go, keep that up. Hey, tell me what today is, man.” 

“Tues-Tuesday?” Malcolm slurred, trying to roll his head to the side. He felt something stop him, and he blinked hard and tried to focus on whatever it was. It didn’t look right, though. It didn’t look like the side of the car. The plastic was broken and warped, the metal twisted and curled and pressed in all around him. He could see another car, another man, through the place where the window should have been. He was bent over his steering wheel, a small, furiously-bleeding cut on his forehead. 

“Good,” JT said. Malcolm tried to turn back to look at him, but he felt a hand catch his face and hold him still. “Try not to move so much. You’re, uh. Pretty banged up. You remember where we were headed?”

“Scene,” Malcolm said. “In… Soho?” He frowned, tried to shake his head and was stopped. “No, that’s not right.”

“It’s okay. Don’t overdo it. What about yesterday? Do you remember what we were teasing Dani about?” Malcolm pressed his lips into a thin line. He felt like the answer was right _there_ , but he couldn’t quite remember it. “How about the case last week. What was the cause of death?”

“Tetrodotoxin,” Malcolm said. He remembered that one. The jellyfish. He’d liked that one. 

“What about when I was sick with that cold, what did you bring for me to eat?” JT asked. Malcolm could feel JT poking at the corner of his jaw. It hurt, but he didn’t try to flinch away. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t really… move. He turned his head while JT was distracted and looked down at himself. 

His arm was pinned - wrapped up in metal and plastic and impossible to free, despite his sudden, frantic tugging. He was pretty sure JT was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear any of the words, just a sort of faint susurrus. A hand gripped his upper arm and his shoulder and held him very, very still, and he began to panic. He jerked his eyes up, and it was as if the panic sharpened everything, brought it into crystal clear focus. He could see JT. The cut on his cheek. The red mark on his jaw that would be a bruise later. The smear of blood on his chin from a split lip. The crushed and smashed passenger’s side of the car where the other car had hit them on impact. 

“What?” he asked, his voice faint and laced with panic. 

“What food did you bring me to eat when I was sick with the cold?” JT repeated the question slowly and clearly, one hand moving from Malcolm’s pinned arm to hold his face. 

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he answered. “JT - JT please.” 

“Listen, I know. I know you’re kinda stuck right now. It’s gonna be fine. You gotta quit moving, though.” JT was kneeling in the driver’s seat and facing Malcolm. “I can hear sirens. They’re on the way. But you have to stop trying to pull your arm out of that mess. You’ll just hurt yourself worse.”

“I can’t,” Malcolm whispered, already aware that he was twisting his wrist again and again to fight the restraint. “I can’t get out. _Please._ ” He squeezed his eyes shut, the only thing he could see being John Watkins and that fucking basement room and the thick metal manacle on his wrist and how he’d had to shatter his own hand to get free. His ribs ached and burned and he was so, so sure he’d been stabbed again. Must have been. 

“Malcolm, you gotta focus on me,” JT said, his voice low and serious and demanding. “We’re gonna count backward, okay? Start at ten. What comes next?”

“Nine,” Malcolm gasped. 

“Keep going,” JT said, nodding. 

“Eight,” Malcolm said, then grimaced and had to stop for a deeper breath that was harder to come by than he was comfortable with. He could feel the door pressed into his side, constricting his chest. “Seven. Six.” JT nodded seriously as he held Malcolm’s head still with one hand and his shoulders pinned with his other hand. “Five.”

Other people were appearing around the cars, most were cops or EMS, some were civilians. Malcolm’s breath stuttered badly. He forgot which number he was on, his attention stolen by their stares and looks of concern, by the shouting. By the man they were able to get out of the other car just by shaking him awake. 

“Malcolm,” JT said, squeezing his shoulder. “What comes after five?”

“Four,” Malcolm said, but he couldn’t focus on JT or what he was trying to do. “Get me out. Please.” He yanked on his arm again, tugging uselessly. He realized it hurt. Badly. “Don’t leave me here.”

Someone was talking outside the car, but Malcolm couldn’t hear what they were saying. JT slid backward, and Malcolm panicked. There was no other word for it. He couldn’t tell where JT was, which of the bodies outside the car was JT, couldn’t figure out who was Watkins, who was there to hurt him, why they were just -

“You can’t _leave me here_ ,” Malcolm shouted at them, yanking hard at his arm. It hurt. It burned. It throbbed. But he’d rip it off if it meant getting out of the damn car. He tried using his legs for leverage, and he found his right leg was pinned too. He made a soft, broken sound. This was so much worse than it had been with Watkins. He hadn’t been given a chance to survive this time. 

There was a hand on his shoulder again, someone holding him still. “No one’s leaving you.” 

Malcolm sobbed, an ugly, broken sound. “Please help me.”

“They’re gonna get you out of that, but it’s gonna take them a minute. Just sit tight, okay? I’ll stay right here.” JT waved someone at the driver’s door away. “They have to pull the other car away first, okay? Then they’ll get you out of this mess.”

Malcolm nodded and lifted his free hand to swipe at his face. That hurt, too. “I - everything hurts right now.”

“Yeah, you don’t look so hot,” JT said with a grim expression. His phone began to ring, and he cursed as he dug it from his pocket. “Gil, yeah, we got T-boned.” Malcolm drifted away from the conversation as JT told Gil what intersection they were at and the rest, instead focusing on the tow truck they’d hitched to the back end of the car that had smashed into them. 

He watched, distant and aching, as the tow truck began to pull the other car away inch by slow inch. The entire right side of the car that was crushed around Malcolm groaned and squealed. Malcolm made another pained noise as the metal settled more firmly on his arm, clamping it tighter. He couldn’t twist his wrist at all, now. The moment there was enough space between the two cars, EMS was there with hydraulic cutters and a blanket to throw over Malcolm so he didn’t get hit with even more debris. JT held up one end of it so Malcolm could still see him, refusing to block Malcolm’s sight completely. 

A set of two people began cutting bits of the door away while another set of two people put a hydraulic jack between the crushed door and the floor and began moving it so Malcolm could get his leg free. JT had to move out of the way so they could hold onto Malcolm and keep him from thrashing or trying to run. He could feel JT’s hand in his hair, though, and that was the only thing keeping his breathing as even as it was. There were too many strangers around him, touching him. 

They helped him from the car with a piece of the car door still around his arm. A twisted piece had stabbed clean through his forearm, and EMS was reluctant to cut away more and risk jarring it too badly. It was small enough that Malcolm could be transported, and that was good enough. When he could no longer see JT, though, he panicked again.

“Get away from me,” he snapped, curling his injured arm close to his chest and jabbing one wingtip oxford at the closest EMS personnel’s shin. “I’m not letting you take me anywhere!”

It was the basement again. John Watkins. The knife in his ribs and the shackle on his wrist. 

“Malcolm.” JT was standing there with both hands up. “You have to go to the hospital. You don’t get a choice about that. Come on. Come with me.” JT held out his hand, and Malcolm followed, only a little reluctant. 

JT might not like him much, but he didn’t think JT would ever hurt him. 

“I like you just fine, Malcolm,” JT said quietly. “And no, I’d never hurt you.”

“I said that out loud?” Malcolm asked, surprised. “Sorry.”

JT just shook his head and guided Malcolm to sit on a gurney. As soon as he was there, someone jabbed Malcolm with a needle, and the world settled immediately. The panic and anxiety fizzled out and everything slowed. “Don’ leave,” he slurred at JT, batting at his sleeve and failing to grab hold of it. 

“I’ll be right there,” JT promised. 

Malcolm closed his eyes.

* * *

When he woke, it was to a private room. He was groggy and knew he’d been drugged with something strong enough to knock down even his worst night terrors. They’d strapped him to the bed anyway, but they’d used a chest-strap, not wrist-straps. Probably a good thing. Someone had clearly prepared them. His right arm was in an open-hinge brace so the hole that clearly went straight through his arm could drain properly. He thought the arm was broken, too, but he couldn’t be sure - the bruising was certainly very bad. His right ankle was in a stiff brace, too, but that wasn’t anything he was too concerned with. He’d ditch it in a few days. His ribs ached, too, though - and so did his face. 

The door opened, and Dani walked in. Her eyes went wide with surprise, then softened immediately. “Glad to see you’re finally awake.” Malcolm reached up to rub at his face, but she caught his hand gently. “You… really don’t want to do that. Bruises.” She waved her hand in front of her own face. “Sort of - everywhere.” 

Malcolm grimaced. “Thanks, I guess. I can’t - what happened?” He couldn’t really remember. That was normal with head injuries. The memories would probably come back to him over the next few hours or days, but he wanted to know now. 

“You were in the car with JT. He was going through an intersection. Some guy was drunk driving at eleven am and t-boned you guys. Hit your car door, smashed you up pretty good.” She ran one hand through her hair and sighed. “JT said you didn’t handle it so well and that EMS had to sedate you as soon as they got you on a gurney.”

“Not much of a surprise,” Malcolm murmured, mostly to himself. After everything that had happened with John Watkins, he wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t reacted well to being pinned in place and being hurt so badly. It was a trauma response. Just because he understood PTSD didn’t mean he didn’t suffer from it. Dr. Le Deux was pretty sure he had CTSD instead, because every visit with his father at Claremont retraumatized him, but he had his own arguments against that. And that wasn’t the point.

He looked up at Dani. “How’s JT? Was he hurt?”

“Few scrapes and bruises,” Dani answered. “You took all the damage.” She sat down in the visitor’s chair and sipped at her paper cup of coffee. “He feels guilty because he was the one driving. He knows it wasn’t his fault, but…”

“Survivor’s guilt,” Malcolm said with a nod. “Or, a version of it.” JT had dealt with worse, he was sure, and he was also sure it wouldn’t bother JT for long. “He knows it wasn’t his fault, like you said. I’ll be fine.” He shrugged, then immediately winced. His ribs were, perhaps, in worse shape than he was ready to admit. “I’m just glad he’s okay. I’m sorry he had to deal with me being… the way I was.” He wasn’t going to call himself crazy. Though he probably was at this point. 

“Don’t,” Dani said sharply. Malcolm looked away from her and picked at the soft white blanket over his lap. “Jesus, you two are both stubborn idiots. I’m going to go call everyone and let them know you’re awake. We only just got JT to go home and shower and get some rest, but I guess that's a lost cause now that you're up.” 

Malcolm frowned at her and wondered what she meant by that comment, but he didn’t ask, just watched her go. He hoped everyone let him get a little bit of a nap in before they started showing up. He was tired. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a follow-up to the wreck - when jt and malcolm DEAL WITH THEIR FEELINGS 
> 
> Sort of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple warnings: there are some allusions to past drug use and self harm, but it's vague and non-specific

His nap was mostly unsatisfying. It was short and filled with nightmares of his time with Watkins - of the girl in the box and his father and that horrible camping trip. He was mostly glad to wake up - less glad to see his mother and sister there and have them fussing over him. Thankfully they didn't stick around too long. Ainsley had work, and Mother had something planned for one of her charities with Eve, and besides that, Gil and Edrissa were waiting for their turn to speak to him. He was surprised to learn even Edrissa had taken the time out of her day to visit him in the hospital.

He sighed up at the ceiling after she left, feeling very tired again. He liked Edrissa. He really did. He wanted to be friends with her. But she was difficult, sometimes, because he knew she had a crush on him. The problem was, he didn't return it, and he didn't want to hurt her feelings. He was pretty sure she was getting past it, thankfully, but he was ready for the point when he could make weird kinky sex jokes with her without making it weird between the two of them. She'd brought him a book, even, which was much nicer and far more appreciated than the flowers his mother had brought. He hadn't read this one, either, and that was a bonus. 

He heard the door open and shut once more, but he assumed it was another nurse and didn't look. 

"Hey, man, you okay?" 

Malcolm turned his head to the side, eyes wide. JT was standing by the foot of his bed, his jaw swollen and bruised, his lip badly split, a couple butterfly stitches over the cut on his cheek. Dani had said he'd only recently gone home, and Gil had made a comment about JT being made to stay overnight for observation, so he'd spent most of the night in Malcolm's room. He must have showered and changed, but he clearly hadn't slept. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked exhausted.

"Considering the circumstances, yes," Malcolm said, injecting false cheer into his voice. "Though it is unfortunate they aren't letting me leave for another few days." He made a face and JT snorted a quick laugh. 

"Yeah, but look on the bright side," JT said, and he held up a big lunch box, the kind with the hard plastic insides so everything stayed cooler. "I brought jello." He sat it on the end of the bed by Malcolm's feet as Malcolm fiddled with the adjustments to get himself upright. JT held up one cup of yellow colored jello. 

"You got the lemon kind," Malcolm said quietly. 

"Yeah, well," JT said, shrugging and looking away, "you bitched the entire time you were stuck in the hospital after Watkins about them only serving red or green." He tossed the cup toward him, and Malcolm caught it awkwardly against his chest. "There's spoons, too. Hang on." He took one out of a plastic wrapper and walked closer to hand it to Malcolm rather than throwing it. "Try to eat actual people food, too, would you?"

"Jello is people food," Malcolm protested mildly as he pinned the cup to his chest with his right arm and pried the foil off the top with his left hand. He took a bite and smiled a little. It was cold. "Thank you." 

"Just don't make them keep you here even longer like last time," JT said, raising one eyebrow. Malcolm didn't bother pretending to look sheepish. Part of that hadn't been his fault. The hospital staff hadn't properly strapped him down a few times, and he'd torn open the staples in his side three times before they caught on to his habits. They weren't taking the chance this time. 

"Mother has them giving me enough tranquilizers to take down a horse, so at least I won't be able to get up and run around," Malcolm told him, all very matter-of-fact. The problem was that he was terrified of not being able to run and escape. He was afraid, too, that they'd use ketamine to get the job done, and something with the ability to make someone like him hallucinate generally wasn't a good idea. 

JT frowned. "Is that really such a good idea?" He waved a hand at his own head. "With the sleep crazy and all?" 

"Not really," Malcolm told him honestly, "but I don't have a better solution." He waved at his right arm with his spoon. "There's an inch and a half wide hole in my broken arm. I really shouldn't move it around too much. Plus the broken ribs. And the swollen and sprained ankle. Even tying me down isn't going to be enough this time, not really, so they have to do what they can."

"Nothing else helps?" JT asked, quiet and hesitant. 

"Not that I've found," Malcolm said grimmly, "and not for lack of trying. I've attempted most substances - legal and illegal. Chloroform helped, sort of." He made a face. "The nightmares were bad, though." 

JT rubbed one hand over his head and half-turned away. "I'm not even surprised, I'm really not." He turned to look at Malcolm, and he seemed angry. "Chloroform, though? Really? What the hell?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Malcolm said honestly. Most of his ideas seemed pretty good at the time. The electroshock had worked, too - for about a day. It was a good thing he didn't have easy access to a machine like that. He was entirely too much of a masochist, and he'd abuse it to try and make himself forget. 

JT's face made a complicated expression that Malcolm couldn't follow or interpret through the haze of painkillers and sedatives that were keeping him from bouncing off the walls. He yawned and JT's expression relaxed almost immediately. 

"I…" he hesitated, then turned away from Malcolm again and crossed his arms over his chest. "How much of yesterday do you remember?"

"Couldn't remember any of it earlier," Malcolm told him, "but I think most of it has come back to me."

"Do you remember when you said… that I didn't like you, but that you didn't think I'd hurt you?"

Malcolm pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his half-eaten cup of jello. "In my defense, I didn't know I'd said that out loud, and I'd been concussed." He refused to look up, instead playing with his spoon. "But yes, I remember saying that. I don't think you'd hurt me, just so we're clear. I've never thought that."

"But you think I don't like you," JT concluded. Malcom didn't answer, which was as good as an affirmation. "Okay, I gotta - I gotta set the record straight, here. You almost fucking died yesterday and -"

"And it wasn't your fault." Malcolm did look up for that. "The other guy was drunk driving, right? That's what Dani said. Even if he wasn't, you can't blame yourself for that. He ran a redlight. It happens all the time. I'll be fine. I don't need anyone's pity, but I especially don't want yours." 

"It's not pity," JT snapped, his arms jerking back down to his sides, his back straightening, his stance widening just a bit. It was always fascinating to watch the way people physically responded when they were angry and felt threatened. "It's not that, okay? So just shut up for a second." He was quiet again for a long moment, then sighed, clearly frustrated.

Malcolm just stated at him. Whatever JT was trying to figure out how to say had been bothering him for a while. He was nervous, too. Defensive. He wondered why. Malcolm certainly wasn't in any position to be the first one casting stones. He was far, far too much of a freak for most people to deal with for an hour of personal time. He had to give Dani props for lasting as long as she had, but he knew he'd drive her off soon enough. JT was only there because he felt guilty and because they were co-workers of a sort. If he wasn't forced to spend time with Malcolm, he never would. 

It had taken the crash for Malcolm to put that in perspective, even if he'd known it already. It hurt, of course, but he imagined it wouldn't take too long to get over his stupid crush now. He needed to find a new hobby. Maybe he could find a position with the CIA or something. They tended to overlook a lot of weirdness if the rumors were true. He'd look into it when he got out of the hospital. 

Finally, JT sighed and his posture shifted into something… less stand-offish. He relaxed, some, and looked more welcoming. "It's not pity because I like you, okay? And I feel guilty because I hadn't told you, and I thought you were gonna die before I got the chance." 

Malcolm blinked at him. 

Jt shifted uncomfortably. "You could say something."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked automatically. "I mean - I'm pretty sure you already know I like you. Why else would you have been avoiding me? But I don't - I don't understand why you had to tell me now, or why it matters, or anything." He looked down and realized he'd half-crushed the plastic jello cup in his hand. "I don't know if you're making fun of me or not, or if this is some sort of thing to do as a joke. I just - I don't know what you want or what you're expecting, and I'd like to know those things first."

"First? It's not a joke or anything. That's - that's sick. And wrong. And I'm not that kind of person."

"No, you aren't," Malcolm agreed quietly. 

"You still said it," JT accused. Malcolm didn't have a response for that, not at the moment, so he said nothing. "And second, I'm not expecting anything from you. I wanted you to know. That's all. Beyond that, it's not up to me alone. Third? No, I really didn't know that, and I haven't been avoiding you." He made a frustrated sound. "I thought, with that big ass brain of yours, you'd have had me figured out by now, and you'd know I wasn't the kind of person to do these things you keep accusing me of doing."

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Malcolm argued. "It's just been my experience that people find out about who I am and who my family is and all the shit that's happened and then they either want to pity me or take advantage of me. And people have absolutely made a joke out of pretending to show affection for me before. Don't make it personal. It's just something I've learned to ask about. People can put on acts easily, but when I ask, it's a lot harder for them to lie to my face about it because I know what to look for." 

JT covered his face with his hand. "You are a walking goddamn tragedy," he muttered. "Jesus save me from your crazy ass." He stepped closer. "I'm gonna kiss you, so if you have a problem with that, say so now." Malcolm stared up at him, wide-eyed with disbelief. 

JT slid one warm, rough palm over Malcolm's bruised cheek, gently, and then bent low to press their lips together. It wasn't much, wasn't hot or heavy, but it didn't really need to be. Malcolm liked it anyway. He couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed someone just for the sake of kissing them. But JT's lip was busted, and his own jaw was swollen pretty bad, so he didn't mind it being short and sweet. 

"So," JT said, backing away just a little. "When you get out of the hospital and you're feeling better, we'll grab dinner or something. If you want." 

"Yeah," Malcolm said, feeling breathless. He had casually dated exactly never, so this was bound to be a fascinating experience. "Um. Where?"

"We'll figure it out later," JT said, and he stepped away from him fully, but he reached out and patted Malcolm's calf. "I told them I wouldn't stay too long. I have to get some rest and so do you. I'll come back tomorrow."

"Okay," Malcolm said, nodding quickly. His head was still reeling with everything that had just happened. It all seemed very sudden. "Uh. Thanks. For the jello. And uh, the kiss, too."

JT made a face at him. "Don't make it weird." 

Malcolm laughed, sudden and bright, and even if it hurt, it still felt really nice, too.


End file.
